


Sing Me Your Songs of Triumph and Grief

by ThreeKnivesInAWineGlass



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, Elves, Harpies, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, Magic, Trauma, think Lord of the Rings but with a dash of World of Warcraft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-06
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-11-12 21:40:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18018956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThreeKnivesInAWineGlass/pseuds/ThreeKnivesInAWineGlass
Summary: He only understands once what he thought was a boulder shivers, catches the light, and he sees that rather than stone it’s an expanse of feathers. They glint purple, except for trails of red that trickle down, falling from where an arrow has pierced the seemingly untouchable exterior and embedded in the delicate flesh beneath.The birds wail overhead, and Minghao feels the sound shudder through him.





	Sing Me Your Songs of Triumph and Grief

**Author's Note:**

> Presently a one shot but likely to be developed further at some point.
> 
> Author’s disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. The characters I write about are based off of real people but are by no means intended to represent real people; the personalities I write are inferred from public personas and should not be taken as accurate portrayals of their real world counterparts.
> 
> I’ve been around enough to see people confusing fiction with reality, so before you read my story, I implore you to recognize these as characters, not celebrities. Please don’t project what you read in stories onto real people. Please respect real people.
> 
> Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy my fic.

The wood is Minghao’s dearest friend. It raised him alongside his mother, and while she showed Minghao how to wield a bow, it was the forest that showed him what it meant to kill. She taught Minghao to respect the trees, saying that in return they would give Minghao kindling for fires in the cold winters, and so Minghao respected them - and so they kept him warm.

Even after Minghao left, life calling to him from beyond the hills, and his mother couldn’t follow him, couldn’t watch over him anymore, the forest did in her stead. It never mattered if he was surrounded by pines that stretched upwards for miles or mighty oaks that had been standing for countless years, it was all the wood. It never mattered because the branches would always shield him, and they would always part so that he could see the stars.

When Minghao finally settled, the restlessness in his bones stilling, quieting, it was in a glade within a bright birch forest. Their bark glistened with the sunrise, an ethereal glow that he learned was consequence of the fae and their moonlight escapades. Minghao could imagine few things that were even remotely comparable to such beauty.

The way light wove its way through the canopy to reach the ground, vivid and bright, was certainly a contender. The song of birds, with its lilting melody that mimics flight, another. Yet, today, neither of these things are beautiful, and Minghao knows that something is wrong. The beams are thin, pale, and they flicker as wind rustles the branches. The birds do not sing, their voices cry out with sorrow instead, a haunting choir that echoes and fills the empty space between the trees.

Minghao has seen this before, when a beast from the plains found its way into the forest, trailing destruction behind it. Minghao remembers because he’d had to kill it. He remembers every creature he’s claimed the life of, whether it be for food, peace, or mercy.

He ventures into the depths of the wood, allows the chorus to guide him, his bow drawn and ready. The light becomes diluted, darker, as he walks, and the foliage slowly shifts, the dandelion color blending into orange, then red, the change only stopping once everything is a deep crimson. However, like a beacon, where the chorus cries loudest, there is light.

Nothing seems wrong from Minghao’s place in the thicket, so he carefully moves closer. He only understands once what he thought was a boulder shivers, catches the light, and he sees that rather than stone it’s an expanse of feathers. They glint purple, except for trails of red that trickle down, falling from where an arrow has pierced the seemingly untouchable exterior and embedded in the delicate flesh beneath.

The birds wail overhead, and Minghao feels the sound shudder through him.

Lowering his bow and placing the arrow back in his quiver, Minghao steps into the small clearing. He can’t tell what it is - it’s far bigger than any bird he’s ever seen, or heard of, and he can’t recall any other creatures with feathered wings. As he slowly circles the creature, his eyes track how the wings curve elegantly, all the way until they meld with a tan form that looks distinctly human.

A person? Minghao assesses them, the sharpness of their facial features, the broad build of their frame, and he concludes that they’re a man. With wings. A winged man. Whose eyes are closed….

“Are you alright?” Minghao calls, attempting to regulate his voice to not be too loud and jarring while still guaranteeing that he’ll be heard. It works somewhat, since the winged man is clearly still startled, but Minghao considers himself overall successful seeing as the winged man doesn’t flee at the sight of him.

Minghao slips his bow over his head to rest against his back and takes hesitant steps forward, granting ample time for the winged man to either move or give some indication that he doesn’t want Minghao to come any closer. He does nothing of the sort, so Minghao keeps approaching him.

“May I look at your wing?” Minghao asks once he’s close enough to not need to raise his voice, can even soften it to be more soothing - or, soothing in theory, at least. The winged man must not find it soothing, not with the way his wing folds tighter, draws closer in to his body, as he looks at Minghao with eyes that project an emotion somewhere between fear and hope. Minghao wants to dispel the fear and allow the hope to blossom, so he says, “I mean no harm. My name is Minghao. I tend to this wood, and all the creatures within it.”

The winged man stares at Minghao, and Minghao doesn’t move under his gaze. He only moves, slowly lifting his hand to reach out, when the winged man extends his wounded wing towards Minghao.

Gently grazing his hand along the arch of the wing, Minghao asks, “Do you have a name?” He hopes that the winged man speaks common tongue - he certainly seems to understand it, but understanding does not always translate to ability. Goodness knows, Minghao understood how to make a fire before he could ever build one that lasted.

“My name is Mingyu,” he says in a soft voice, almost as if he’s afraid of being heard. Minghao despises such tones. They’re only present in the speech of those who have been cornered, beaten, and conquered. It’s a voice imposed by threats delivered upon and the worst of the monsters that roam the land.

“Mingyu,” Minghao repeats, then nods. He withdraws his hand from Mingyu’s wing, holding it out to Mingyu himself as he says, “I’m afraid I can’t tend to your wound here, but my home isn’t far. Will you please allow me to help you and come with me?”

Near silence hangs in the air between them for a moment, the birds starting to quiet, until Mingyu angles his head and asks, “What are you?”

“I'm a ranger and an elven child of the moon,” Minghao doesn’t hesitate to answer. He has no reason to, and his willingness is rewarded with some degree of trust - however much, and for however long - as Mingyu takes his hand.

The birds stop crying all together, and faintly, Minghao can hear the beginnings of their usual song.

**Author's Note:**

> Art is only complete once it has been witnessed. Want to help finish a story? Leave a comment. If you have a thought after reading a fic, tell the author about it. Comments motivate, inspire, and please us immensely - like a cat getting pats. So spread a little goodness, support your fandom authors and leave a comment to let them know you see their work.


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